Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(19)

“I will no’ be made a fool of!” he declared, his voice cracking with age. “I am laird of the Gordons! Me son will be avenged! I demand it of ye!”

His voice was only an echo of what it had been in his youth. All around him, his hall was falling to ruin, just as Colum himself was. His clan was thin and tired of his cries for vengeance.

But Colum Gordon still drew breath, so they followed his commands. Diocail felt his stomach turn. He’d been raised by his mother to dream of the day he returned to the Gordon towers and took command of them. He was glad she hadn’t lived to see the ruin the clan had fallen into. Some men didn’t live long enough, and others—such as Colum—lived too long.

Let the old man sentence him to some lashes. Diocail would never be sorry he’d made sure the little lass was free.

*

Rolfe McTavish was warm.

Deliciously so, considering Katherine wore only a shirt.

She tried to avoid thinking about how he kept her warm, but as the miles dropped behind them, her temper cooled as exhaustion took command of everything in her world. She simply didn’t have any strength left to nurse her wounded pride. For certain, she was furious with him for taking her hostage, but it paled in comparison to the fate that would have been hers at the hands of the Gordons.

So by sunrise, she faced the first rays of light with gratitude.

Rolfe kept them moving with only short breaks for the entire day.

He lifted his hand and called a halt once the light began to fade. He handed her down to one of his captains and slid off the back of his horse next to her.

She’d never seen him by light of day. The sun showed her a head of blond hair that complemented his green eyes. His face was cut and chiseled, declaring him a man who didn’t sit at the high table indulging his appetites while his men toiled through the daylight hours. She knew the difference better than most because England was more forgiving to such nobles. They became fat and slow, two things Rolfe McTavish certainly was not.

His captain released the belt holding her arms, and she stepped away from Rolfe, shooting him a scathing look as she yanked the gag off. Her jaw was stiff from the thing and her tongue dry as ashes.

That comparison tempered her thoughts, keeping her silent as she decided not to blister his ears.

She would be ashes without his aid.

So she turned and walked behind an outcropping of rocks to relieve herself.

But her restraint didn’t last when she caught sight of Adwin taking a position on the high ground above her. The captain had his back to her, but he was clearly there to ensure she didn’t make a run for it. Coming back around the outcropping, she watched as Rolfe tied her horse to his with a length of rope. He finished with a hard motion of his hand and turned his back on her before hiking over a ridge to seek his own privacy.

It would be a long walk, but she shifted back a step and then another, intending to drop back behind the outcropping of rocks that she’d just come around.

Adwin caught her by the upper arm and pulled her toward the other men.

“Release me,” she insisted.

“No need to be so agitated, lass,” the captain said before allowing her to shake off his hold. “It’s just a bit of ransom. Unlike with the Gordons, no harm will come to ye. Now sit down and rest while ye can.”

One of the men patted the ground next to him.

“I didn’t think you were feuding with the MacPhersons.”

“We aren’t.” Rolfe had returned, and she jumped because the man was right behind her. She ended up facing him and took a step backward.

Katherine felt her eyes narrow. Christ! Fate was having a merry time with her, it would seem! Why now, of all times, did she suddenly develop an awareness of men?

“We’re needling them,” Adwin informed her in a voice edged with experience. “Ye’ll be well and treated fine. Ye’ve put up a decent fight, enough to satisfy yer honor. Now sit. No one wants to truss ye up.”

“Excellent,” she responded. “In that case, I will be on my way since we seem to be finished with this ‘needling.’”

Rolfe was watching her, a glitter in his eyes that promised her an argument.

Or something else that she wasn’t all too certain of. She decided she didn’t want to know because her belly was twisting as though she was anticipating something.

“Can nae expect an English lass to understand,” Cedric spoke up. “Best keep a sharp eye on her.”

There was a murmur of agreement among the McTavish retainers. Many of them had lain back and rolled themselves in their plaids to catch a bit of sleep.

“Settle here, lass.” Adwin tried to cajole her once more. “We’ve no plaid to spare, so we’ll put ye between us to keep ye warm.”

“I will not—”

The last word was barely past her lips when Rolfe scooped her off her feet. Another one of those startled, feminine sounds escaped her lips before he put her exactly where he wanted to. What grated on her nerves was the amusement his men gained from it. But flipping over in her agitation only made her shirt ride up her thighs. She froze as she tugged it down, and Rolfe took advantage of the moment, lying down next to her. He turned his back to her, and Adwin started scooting toward her until she was wedged tight between them.

Oh, it felt good.

She tried to find some reason why she should resent it, but the truth was that she would be peevish if she continued to suckle her anger.